Shadow of a Flame
by TrishaTonks
Summary: The war is over, and Ginny is emptier than she's ever been. Ginny/Draco. Rated M for future chapters.


A/N: Something new to ring in the New Year. A different pairing than I usually tackle, but I hope you all like it. It starts out slow, I apologize. And as always, none of these characters are mine, they are property of the always lovely JKR.

Night had fallen by the time Ginny emerged from her flat in the dregs of London. The air was humid, static – it would rain soon, that was certain. Ginny didn't mind. She pushed her hair away from her sticky skin as she made her way to The Lucky Dog, a seedy pub she often frequented. She hadn't showered today. Actually, she wasn't sure when she last showered – the days had begun to flow into each other. Was it Tuesday? Wednesday? Walking into the building, she cringed and deemed it Thursday or Friday. The place was packed with people, something she tried to avoid. Ginny didn't do crowds. She didn't do people, period.

Seating herself at the farthest corner of the bar, she signaled to the bar tender.

"Your usual, Gin?" Peter asked. He was an older gentleman, heavily built but with kind eyes. Pete seemed to work every night of the week, or at least, he was there every time Ginny was – which was often. He never questioned her, beyond her name. He had seen enough of life to know about it, about what living can do to a person.

Ginny nodded.

A few seconds later, a small glass of scotch appeared in front of her. She downed it in one gulp.

Wordlessly, Pete placed three more glasses on the bar, then left to attend to the party crowd.

Sipping her second drink a bit slower, Ginny took in her surroundings again. The lights were as dim as always, it was a struggle to see a few feet in front of her. The old wooden bar was starting to chip, and the stools squeaked every time they rotated. Usually, the pub stayed fairly empty. Tonight, however, there seemed to be a steady stream of customers here to drink, dance, and have a good time.

_A good time..._ Ginny shook her head; she came here to get drunk.

XXXXXXXXXX

After her seventh or eighth drink, Ginny had had enough of the crowd. Pulling out a few bills, she left them on the bar for Pete and exited the pub into the warm, night air.

Ginny had been going to that pub for almost five years now. After the war, she left her childhood home and never looked back. At first, her mother tried everything she could to get Ginny to come home. She sent the Ron and Harry over nearly every day. They would knock on the doors for hours – tried to bang them down, really – but after awhile they stopped trying. They knew it was no use. If Ginny wanted to see them, she would. Attempting to corner her wasn't going to change anything.

The drinking started soon after she moved away. Ginny was strong, but not strong enough for the war. She watched as her entire family fell down, one by one. First was Fred, taken out in the battle. George came after, committing suicide after holding Fred's hand as he died. Bill was ripped to shreds by Fenrir Greyback. His remains lay all over the room. He was unrecognizable. Percy took a curse to the chest, and after much treatment at St. Mungo's, he forever resides in the mental health ward. The doctor's said there's a chance he remembers everything, but seeing as he refuses to talk, nobody will ever know. Charlie survived, but puts everything into his work in Romania. Like Ginny, there was no way he could stay at the Burrow and stay sane.

So Ginny drank. Nearly every night she filled her stomach with scotch, a muggle liquor from a muggle pub. She reveled in how it burned down her throat, made her feel alive when inside she was only cold and empty. Most of all, it helped her forget. Not forget her family, no, but forget that their deaths affected her the way that they did. In her drunken fantasy, Ginny was whole and those deaths were just something that happened in the past.

It was impossible to ignore completely, though, make no mistake. Once the war was over, Arthur moved so high in the ministry that his name appeared in the Daily Prophet nearly every day. After awhile, Ginny stopped reading the paper all together.

Her family was something of the past.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next morning, Ginny awoke to a blistering headache and a continuous pounding at her door.

"I swear, whoever is at this door at seven in the morning…" Ginny grumbled as she fell off her couch, and stumbled to the entryway.

Pulling open the door, she stopped short. Ron looked at her for a moment before speaking.

"Dad's dead."


End file.
